A Torn Soul
by WeaverQM
Summary: The Battle of Beacon is over, but its consequences? Far from it. For Jaune Arc however it is the beginning of a new path, one that sets him on the course for greatness. But is the price he's paid worth it?
1. Chapter Zero: A Promise Made

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

These were the two words Jaune focused on as he sat upright in the cot he had called his home for the last two days. His T-Shirt clung to his chest as his lungs gasped for breath, his heart pounding against his ribs in a rapid, powerful beat. It was the start of a new routine the blonde knight hoped would not become a permanent one; Though as his bare feet pressed into the tarp flooring and saw the still petrified dragon looming over the fractured spire of Beacon Academy, he feared that was not the case. Looking back into the moonlit tent the slightest glint of bronze grips his heart, stilling the once thunderous beat it had.

 _Pyrrha_

The memory still seared in his mind, the form of his partner, his friend and would-be romance pushing him into the locker and rocketing him away. It was the last time he would see her; Yet in his desperate search had he been so lucky that he had found the broken remains of the once Invincible Girl's weapons, let alone managed to recover them. Yet of the three things the Blonde Knight had managed to collect, the most precious of them was not among the pile. Looking beneath the cot and atop the nearly folded bundle of his sweatshirt rested the circlet that once found itself upon her head. Now however, it was the only real piece of her memory he had left.

 _I'm sorry_

Those were her last words, and they were the same words that haunted his nightmares. Knowing that Pyrrha was gone, knowing that she had sacrificed herself to save him and knowing that it was partly his fault. For Jaune, to stare that in the face had changed him; For real or not it was where his heart now lay, faced with the fact that he had survived at the cost of his Partner.

A dry, pained chuckle could not help but escape his lips as he thought about it.

She had unlocked his aura, trained him, stood up for him and even died for him. She had loved him, and he had repaid that with the blindness and cluelessness he was seemingly destined to have. It was only at the end that Jaune came to know her feelings, and now he could never return them. But with what he had done to her?

It was only fair.

Taking a seat once more Jaune continued to focus on his breath, though it did nothing to calm him nor the stabbing pain in his chest. Reaching for his scroll and checking the time the fact that it had only been four hours did not surprise him. It did however leave him knowing he would probably not be sleeping. Not for awhile at least.

So, it was on to the next best thing from sleeping.

Quietly slipping Croeca Mors and its sheath from beneath the cot, the lone knight made his way out of his tent and to the grove of trees a few hundred feet away. However even as he crossed this distance in the still-warm air of late September he could not help but feel a scowl tug at his lips. To think that only two days prior he and so many other students here had been fighting for their lives, yet now it seemed almost tranquil in comparison. Though as peaceful as the makeshift campground and clearing was, it did not ease or settle the anxiety that gripped him.

So stepping into the clearing and setting down his scroll, Jaune made quick work of setting up what he had come here for.

Tapping the center of the screen and stepping a few paces away it was another stab of pain seeing none other than Pyrrha Nikos, her bright emerald eyes and small courteous smile like a ghost lingering again in his life. He remembered the day she had sent the video to him in case she had been busy with class. He remembered how many days he'd contemplate using it when she was and how often the answer was a no. Because Jaune could never imagine a world where she wouldn't be by his side.

How wrong would he be.

Seeing the image of the Invincible Girl blink he immediately feels his muscles tense. Her picture was one thing, but seeing the image begin to animate was another. It was a far more immediate reminder of her passing, seeing the deceased girl smiling, blinking and breathing as if she were still present was…

Though when her voice began to ring through the scroll's speaker the pain in Jaune's chest nearly floors him.

 _Hello, Jaune._

In a panic the Blonde Knight lunges forward. Desperately stabbing a finger into the screen of his scroll to make it stop. Due to the suddenness of the action Jaune had little time to prepare and so having thrown himself to stop the video had found his face buried in the dew and dirt. Enough had finally been enough and he could take the pain no longer. For two days he had fought the torrent of emotions in the name of staying focused on the ongoing disaster. But no more, as a strangled, pained whimper finally broke the silence.

It had finally become an unavoidable reality in hearing her voice: Pyrrha Nikos was not coming back.

Turning from a whimper to a choked sob, Jaune felt as if his guts had turned into rubber; Pulling his frame into a ball as his lungs spasmed and sputtered breath and cry alike. It was unavoidable now, the realization that he was truly alone. While Ren and Nora were still around they were often gone during the long hours of the day, no doubt mourning in their own way. Team RWBY had up and vanished, and there was no way to send out a call to his family. And so as the tidal wave of emotions washed over the Blonde he could no longer stem it, his quiet cries rocking his already trembling frame in the evening grass.

 _How pathetic? How pathetic am I that I can't even hear her voice without falling apart? What did she see in me?_

In this moment of weakness, it was hard to ignore these thoughts. To Jaune they were always present, but often quiet, kept at bay thanks to the presence of his friends. But without them and their constant warmth that was no longer the case. So in this moment of absolute isolation, there was little else Jaune could do but ride out the storm of emotions. Though however long the lone Knight had wallowed in his sorrow he was eventually disturbed by a figure cutting the otherwise choked silence.

"I did not expect to find you out here so late, Mr. Arc."

The sound of Glynda Goodwitch's voice was a shock and Jaune naturally shied away as the professor made herself known. It was no secret that he was a poor student and it seemed more often than not that the professor had made it her mission to push the teen harder. So his surprise was welcome and as he pulled himself to a seated position before wiping his tears away.

"W-well I was just-" The teen stammered, though his words were quickly cut off.

"You miss her, don't you?" She asks.

There is a pregnant silence.

To be fair Jaune had not expected the question, let alone for it to be put out there so bluntly. In all the time that he had known the rather serious professor, the words he would use to describe her were 'Serious, intelligent, high-strung.' But 'blunt' was not on that list and with his shock evident Glynda took a few steps forward. Hearing the grass part at her steps only heightened the blonde's anxiety, causing him to scoot back ever so slightly. The sound of stops and looking up he finds that sure enough she had stopped, the imposing figure of Glynda made small as she kneeled a few feet from the teen.

"Mr. Arc, while I may have been your instructor these nearly two years, I am also your years advisor. I am not asking this for any…" She pauses, a sigh escaping her lips as she takes another foot forward.

"I'm asking because I know you were close." She reiterates.

That was an understatement.

"Close? She was my partner." Jaune seethes, his fists clenching as his wracks of sadness turned to those of anger. "She helped me when no one else could, or would. She pushed me to actually be a huntsman. And just before she died? She...she." Jaune ranted, however in his tirade he found himself swiftly caught up in the embrace of his once-teacher.

Once again the dam broke, Jaune subconsciously allowing himself to collapse into the older woman before him. For the first time in recent memory, the boy collapses into a sobbing heap amidst his Professor's embrace. His cries were no longer unbidden, releasing a tumultuous cocktail of emotions into the forefront; Anger, fear, anguish and heartbreak all perfectly brewed together within the recesses of his mind. Even as he continued to tremble, his body wracked with cries, he simply could not ignore the slight touch of a hand against his back, its warmth sinking soothingly through his shirt. How long he had let himself be swept up in her embrace, he did not know; Though the next active thought that danced across his conscious mind was not where had had been before.

The sound of birds chirping and the slight rustle of fabric around him was the first thing to assault his senses, followed shortly thereafter by the warmth and unavoidable light of the sun as an all too familiar voice all but shattered the silence.

"It's time to get up Jaune-Jaune!"

Jolting upright as his body naturally responded to what had become a familiar call in his mornings, Jaune had not accounted for the low height of his cot and found himself tumbling on to the floor; Much to Nora's amusement.

"I'm up, I'm up." The Blonde Knight mumbled before the nights events played out in his head.

Was it all a dream?

Reaching a hand up to the cot the Blonde Knight felt for his scroll, his fingers brushing against the cold metal a quick moment later two things are immediately apparent. First is that it was in fact 9 A.M, which was surprising if only because Nora was not one for late mornings. The second was a single message that read the following:

' _Mr. Arc, expect one of my colleagues to be in contact with you shortly. ~ '_


	2. Chapter One: A New Direction

**Author's Note:** Hello all...305 of you! I realized a little late on the last chapter that I hadn't really done one of these (though considering I haven't been on this website as a writer in... _ten years_ (yeesh, I don't want to remember that cringe)) I figured I should fix it here. So welcome to those of you returning to my story and for first readers I hope you enjoy. I honestly don't really know why I thought of doing this story if I'm entirely honest. Not to say I haven't written RWBY fiction before (I am elsewhere but that's another beast entirely) but I see a number of flaws and wasted potential in the show and I figured I'd take a shot at a more long format fiction project.

To that end there will be a few things unique to this 'Alternate' RWBY I suppose; Though those will be slight for now. At its heart this story will follow a more 'real' Jaune Arc, someone who has lost a partner, close friend, would-be lover and more; And what he is willing to do to make amends, even if they are impossible. Anyways I think I've rambled enough for now, so with that said let's get back into the story.

* * *

Jaune had never been more confused in his life.

When he had been given a message that Ms. Goodwitch's 'associate' would be in contact he had expected a few days. What he had not expected was that twenty minutes after getting the message some stranger would show up, drag him out of his tent with him still in his pajamas and introduce himself. Yet sure enough he was now face to face with such a scenario, the aforementioned figure standing just a few feet ahead of the bewildered blonde.

While the stranger was not much taller than Jaune himself, perhaps no more than half a head or so, he opposite the teen in almost every way. Where Jaune's blonde locks and almost sapphire eyes stood out from his pale skin, the figures was the farthest from it; His hair a dull gray, eyes a tarnished green and his skin tanned from no doubt days in the sun. Even the way the two held themselves was a polar opposite, with Jaunes tense and almost frightened stance a stark contrast to the relaxed, if irritated one.

"So you're Jaune, huh?" The stranger asked, a hint of a smirk ghosting across his face.

"Y-yep, that's me, Jaune Arc. Short, sweet, rolls of th-."

"Yeah, yeah that's great kid. Drop and give me twenty."

"What?" Jaune questions, the word slipping from his lips.

"Drop and give me twenty, you know...push-ups?" The grey haired man explains, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "When Glynda had said you needed a crash course I did not think she had meant it so literally."

Ouch.

Deciding it would be best to not further agitate the person that Jaune could now confirm was the aforementioned 'associate', he quickly set about doing the requested task. While an empty stomach and cold muscles were not a recipe for good exercise, the Blonde stowed his concerns and focused himself on tension and release of his muscles as his body went through what had become a common routine during Beacon's more hands on courses.

"So...who are you anyway?" Jaune asked at the height of his eighth repetition, his nerves finally deciding to cut through the silence.

"I'll tell you who I am when you prove to me you're worth the effort of telling you." He responds before the feeling of a foot on his back and a sudden increase in weight became apparent to Jaune.

Message clear: Stop talking and do what you're told, Jaune.

Finishing the set of push-ups the Blonde Knight moves to stand but is interrupted by another instruction.

"Crunches, fifty."

This would set the tone for the following hour as Jaune was put through his paces. From Jumping Jacks to laps around the clearing he had brought to and more, the stranger was quick to put him not only through his paces and beyond them. When it finally ended and the Huntsman-in-Training was given a break his body felt like lead. Painful, sluggish, angry lead. Wiping the sweat from his brow and savoring the lungfuls of cool, refreshing air Jaune was simply thankful for a moment of stillness.

"Not bad, kid. Not great, but not terrible either." The figure praises? Chastises? Jaune isn't entirely sure.

"You...still haven't...told me your name." Jaune countered, hoping for an answer of some kind.

Seeing the figure snort, he had a sinking feeling this was not going to be the case.

"Well kid, we're not done yet and while you're promising; You still haven't made it worth my while." He responds nonchalantly, getting a growl out of the teen.

"Glynda told me someone would be in contact! If you're here to train me then train me already." He muttered, the light sting of muscle pain replaced with the warmth of anger.

Whereas most of his questions and barbs had gotten nothing to this point, this one did.

The Stranger's eyes hardened and in an instant what frustrations the teen had died, replaced with the cold and slightly familiar feeling of dread. Jaune felt like he needed to run, to get away but his already sore and tired body would not listen; The only sign of his fear being the slight tremor of his hands. Such was his focus on his own fear that the voice of the Stranger had managed to catch him off guard.

"That may be what she has told you, and you are right. I am here to train you. But until I see you in full where I decide to start isn't set in stone. You've got an hour; Take a break, get a meal, I don't care. Just make sure that you bring whatever weapons and armor you use with you." He says, slowly and with the message made clear:

 _Don't ask me again._

With little aplomb and well aware that in reality he had half an hour at most, Jaune did not argue further. Instead busying himself with returning to camp, Jaune felt the slight cooling sensation of his aura trickling to his worn muscles. He was still not used to the sensation, even after two years of having it as his disposal there were times that he would forget it existed. Having lived almost his entire life without it and having virtually no training in it once he had awakened it; Jaune did not look at his Aura like most other huntsmen did.

In his mind it wasn't an inherent part of who he was, but a tool to be used (and forgotten). This came insomuch from the fact that he did not grow up with the enhanced strength, speed, reflexes or regeneration such a boon had; So often a cut was just that. Something to put a bandage on and be mindful of it for a few days. The fact that with a bit of concentration such a wound was now little more than a few seconds of irritation often escaped him. Though now as he took off to hopefully get at least something in his stomach, Jaune was thankful for it.

 _Another thing Pyrrha gave you, Jaune._

* * *

Arsenal had to admit, Glynda may have actually picked a good one.

Watching the teen leave the clearing in silence, the Huntsman let himself relax; If only slightly. While he had not done very much in the long run with the boy, the real test was on the horizon. He had not expected to be pulled off patrol that morning nor a request from his old teacher to throw together a training regimen for some kid. Yet sure enough here he was, spending his early afternoon running some wanna be huntsman through some 'light' exercise to see how he would do. And the results had been...surprising. At first glance most people and even some hunters would see it as pathetic, that he was a sweating and panting mess. But most huntsmen never factored in their aura use, something Jaune had completely foregone in the exercises.

That was a good thing, at least for the moment.

What he could actually do with his aura remained to be seen, but at least in terms of physical health he was _okay_. Better than most the kids in his class, if he had to guess, but that wasn't the point of this...or at least it didn't feel like it was. Taking a seat at the base of the tree Arsenal sighed, letting his body relax as he set his mind to work. What could it be? Of course he could ask, but knowing the assistant dean whatever purpose she had was not one she would give easily.

Arsenal could not be bothered..

Reaching into a pocket the huntsman retrieves a small capsule from it. No larger than a fingernail he quickly slips it into his mouth and swallows it, grimacing as the bitter chalky texture registered in his brain. When it finally paced and his muscles relaxed from their unconscious spasms he takes a long, shaky breath. He hated the concoction with every inch of his being but it was a needed evil; And like any good huntsman, Arsenal Gray was not a stranger to necessary evil. Checking his scroll and seeing that there was still a good thirty minutes until the boy would return, Arsenal got to his feet and started preparing for the next phase of the test: The Combat Trial.

Glynda may have picked a good one, but that was yet to be seen in its entirely.

* * *

It was amazing to Jaune how quickly an hour could pass.

Sure it had been maybe ten minutes in total of walking to and from camp, but it was surprising to see just how much time it could take to eat and equip oneself. However feeling the comforting weight of Crocea Mors on his hip and armor on his body made the fact that he was walking to a fight evident. It was no mystery to everyone at Beacon that Jaune was not a great fighter, be it Grimm or other classmates. So what chance could he possibly have against a full fledged huntsman? That was the question that plagued the Blonde as he finally returned to the clearing and found that the figure standing there, having seemingly not moved from where he had been standing prior.

 _Was he just waiting there like that?_ Jaune had to wonder, though seeing the slight smile on the Strangers face was enough for the Knight to stow his thoughts.

"Gotta say kid, I thought I was out of date in the weapons department; But you really take the cake." He teases.

"What's wrong with Crocea Mors?" Jaune defended.

"Nothing." The Stranger replies "Simply saying that you're walking around with a relic like it's the next step in weapons." He teases, before reaching up and undoing the clasp of the full length cloak the figure had been clad in since Jaune had met him.

With little fanfare the figure cast the garment aside and for the first time the Blonde Knight saw what the Stranger wore beneath. At first it appeared to be some kind of body glove, black as night and broke up by patches of muted grey along the arms, legs and sides. However upon a more focused look it was revealed that sure enough the figure was wearing some kind of armor, though it lacked any real similarity to his own. Whereas Jaune's armor was focused primarily on the arms and torso, the stranger was clad from the neck down; Though not only was the armor more covering, it appeared to be thinner, with overlapping plates along the chest and shoulders.

It was like something out of a movie.

Watching the figure move the slight rustle of his armor was broken up by a slight rattle. It was then that the Blonde Knight saw his potential mentor's weapon. Hanging from his left hip and curving out behind him was a singular sword. Clearly thinner given the narrow sheath it rested within, which itself was a dark wood polished to a near perfect shine. Engraved along its side was some sort of design, but seeing the strangers hand grip the hilt at its neck drew Jaune from his observations.

"So, gonna make this real simple: No Semblances. Fifteen Minutes. Anything goes. Any questions?" He asks.

Uh…

"N-" The word begins to leave his lips but the glint in the strangers eyes sets off instincts he had begun to pick up at his time at Beacon.

Pressing all of his weight onto his right foot the Blonde Knight pushes off, pivoting away as a flash of silver and a black clad arm moved through the space he once occupied.

"Start." The figure says, the cheer in his voice taunting the teen as Jaune's hand wrapped around the hilt of Crocea Mors and drew it in a rising cut, only for the figure to have...vanished?

 _How did he do that?_

Stowing his question the teen slips his left hand down to remove and equip his scabbard shield. Sliding the grip into his hand and releasing the catch the shield popped open in time for something to slam against it with force. Deflecting the blow away from him for a brief moment Jaune saw the dull green eyes and the reflection of silver as he caught a glimpse of what must have been a nearly two foot curved blade. Though this time the Stranger did not vanish as he had before and instead followed up his first strike with a second, though this time Jaune was prepared. Planting his foot and leaning into the strike, watching as the blade slid harmly across the shield's concave surface. Bring his sword down again Jaune watched this time as the huntsman withdrew his blade and with a single kick vanished back into the surrounding trees.

 _So that's his game._

Aura was such a miracle sometimes.

Tightening his grip on his weapons, the Blonde Knight felt the slight warmth of his aura beginning to spread out from his core. As the feeling began to spread up past his neck and to his ears the sudden increase in his senses was enough to hear the slight draw and release of breath. While he was no expert Jaune knew it was close and...Behind! Spinning in place, his arm cocked back, Jaune brought his blade around only for a shower of sparks to fill the air between him and the stranger; His thinner, curved blade redirecting Jaune's own blade away from the Stranger. Before Jaune could attempt to capitalize on catching his foe the figure again repeated his previous disengagement, leaping away.

 _Not this time._ Jaune thought, gritting his teeth.

Focusing his aura down his legs the Blonde kicked off the ground, the force of the action magnified by his aura. In a moment he was airborne, the figure's green eyes locked onto Jaune's own in seeming bemusement. Watching as the Stranger touched down in the parched dirt Jaune went over the next tentative steps.

 _Remember, don't lock up. Keep your stance wide and transfer the energy of the jump into your swing._ He told himself, even as the dust kicked up ahead of both him and his target.

Though it was then that his eye caught something: The stranger had something in his once free left hand. Barely smaller than a clenched fist the most immediate reaction was the one that overtook the Knight.

 _A bomb?!_

His feet skidding along the dirt, Jaune brought up Crocea Mors's shield in preparation for the oncoming outcome. However when something finally DID hit the shield it did not come with the sudden shockwave of force he had expected, instead the Blonde Knight found himself in a hazy cloud of light brown smoke. Even as his mind processed what trick he had just fallen for the familiar bite and warmth of blood as the Strangers blade caught him in the upper thigh. Wincing as the now wounded limb screamed in protest, Jaune immediately set his aura about fixing the wound. Though hearing the echoing laugh of the Stranger, Jaune turned to face the sound, putting his currently injured leg behind him and bracing himself behind his shield.

"First blood goes to me it seems, though I must say you catch on quickly...sometimes." The Stranger admits, slipping his sword into both hands.

"And you're better than anyone I've had a spar with, that's for sure." Jaune admits, his eyes not leaving the figure in case he attempted to rush him.

"You can beat yourself up later, focus on the moment." The stranger advices, and in another surge of Aura, sure enough the Stranger came.

This time Jaune was ready.

 _Square your feet, brace and as they land the blow cut across_. The Blonde told himself, reminding himself of one of the first lessons the Invincible Girl had taught him.

Though as the Stranger prepared his blow, cutting diagonally in an attempted to cut from the left shoulder to right hip. Bringing his shield up and cutting the attack off Jaune was certain this would along the midline if things had gone to plan the Stranger would have tasted the steel of his sword. But what Jaune had not expected was for the Stranger to have _let go_ of his weapon; Instead using his now free hand to maneuver the shield out of the way before slamming a clenched fist into the Knights jaw. Staggering back, Jaune was instead pulled forward as the Strangers grip on his shield pulled him closer. Suddenly the force revered and with his footing completely broken the Blonde was assisted to the ground by a rapid right cross.

Jaune was floored; Literally and Figuratively.

"You need to stop thinking kid. You're so busy trying to walk yourself through the fight that you're going to get beaten. I'm not a Grimm kid." The Stranger Warns.

 _How would that help? I'm a student going up against a full fledged Huntsman._ Jaune thought to himself, though he shrugged that off. The Stranger had told him to focus on the fight and looking up at the figure as he stood over the fallen Knight.

 _Stop thinking. Just do._

Gripping the strap of his shield tighter, Jaune prepared himself to do the _one thing_ Pyrrha taught him not to do. To that end the Knight threw his arm forward, launching the shield at the Figure he then threw his aura into his arm, slamming it back into the ground and sending him up and right of his foe. Seeing the Strangers green eyes sparkle in amusement, Jaune felt his face scrunch as he glared back. Watching as he ducked beneath the shield and rolled for his sword, Jaune saw his opportunity and with another surge of aura he flipped Crocea Mors in his hands before javelin throwing it at his still diving opponent.

Watching the worn blade cut through the air, it occured to the Blonde that such a thing could easily kill. How the thought had not entered his mind escaped him for a moment, but as his adrenaline and aura enhanced mind raced to understand the impulse the answer became clearer...at least hypothetically. But that would have to wait, as the choice had been made; Though Jaune knew that one thing would bother him 'was it the right choice?'

He didn't know, but it was certainly not something he had ever felt before; Fighting in a spar or fighting Grimm.

During this however the Stranger was not idle, and as he curled around his hilt of his blade he brought it up with surprising speed, managing to dig through the ground to clear the arc, revealing the force behind the blow as the shockwave cut through the kicked up dust. Hearing the ring of metal on metal Jaune watched his blade was knocked higher into the air. Even as he touched down Jaune already had charged his aura once more into his legs and with a grunt lept skyward. Within seconds he had managed to catch up to his sword, his fingers wrapping around its worn hilt before the pull of gravity once more made itself known. Looking down at the forest floor rapidly coming up to meet him it appeared that the Stranger had been waiting, his sword held back and ready to strike.

It seemed that it came down to this.

Gripping the blade in both hands Jaune drew upon his aura once more, not to just shield his body from the impact with the ground but to put whatever strength he could behind the blade when they clashed. Seeing the dust bloom around the Stranger's feet and the shimmer of aura Jaune felt his heart tighten and his muscles further tighten as the figure prepared. By this point the wind was whistling in Jaune's ears as he fell back to earth faster and faster. In a split second it happened and was over, but for both fighters it felt like an eternity.

Jaune would never forget it.

At first the sound was that of screaming metal as the blades clashed between the two, though it was quickly replaced with the sound of something akin to shattering glass. Then it was the impact of the Strangers blade slamming into Jaune's torso. While it had not damaged the armor in any way, it felt akin to being slammed in the chest by Nora's mighty Magnhild. Third was the dry heave the Knight was forced to do as the air was knocked from his lungs. But lastly was the sound of steel rain as the exploded fragments of Crocea Mors shattered blade rained down around the duo.

It would be a pregnant few seconds of silence before The Stranger's Scroll was kind enough to let out a tone indicating that fifteen minutes were up.

Jaune however, could care less.

While he was aware that Crocea Mors was his great-great-grandfathers weapon during the war, the thought that time and age could wear the weapon down never crossed the Arc's mind. Even if it was nearly three centuries old it had held up against the sort of day to day abuse any Huntsman's weapon did. So to see the once solid blade in a few hundred pieces was something that hit harder than the blow he had suffered. The family's relic was nothing more than a hilt and a scabbard now.


	3. Chapter Two: A Huntsman Reforged

**AN:** Hi there all 813 of you! I'm actually writing this note about three hours after posting the last chapter, it's currently 2 A.M and I have to say seeing that this thing has hit 200 views in just a few hours equally humbles and terrifies me. I can only hope that you have enjoyed my work so far but I should clarify that reviews and feedback are always welcome, and while we're still very young I hope I continue to provide the same quality of content. Now then to some of the meat and potatoes I think that we're going to be on this schedule of shorter and more frequent chapters as we make our way through "Volume 3.5" as I am coining it and see how the six-to-eight months Jaune spends help shape him. (More on that whole thing in a moment).

Now then, addressing as I literally just said, there's a bit of a divergence here in the amount of time we are working with, if only because Rooster Teeth seems to not understand time and other 'canon' material clashing with what was said to be six months in an AMA. Though, without further adieu or ranting let's get back into it!

* * *

Two weeks.

It had been two weeks since that fateful day and as Jaune rose with the early morning sun he could not help but feel...naked. Not due to the nipping early October chill, but the slight feeling of vulnerability he had felt ever since his family heirloom was destroyed. While it was nowhere near as fancy as Ruby's Crescent Rose or as elegantly simple as Ren's StormFlower, Crocea Mors had been something he had known all his life. Even as a boy the sword and scabbard had hung over the fireplace; The light of flames licking and dancing across its dull white exterior in the winter and dancing rays of sunlight in the summer. It had accompanied him on the journey to Beacon itself and then two years of schooling. Yet now…

Well, he didn't know.

The Huntsman, who Jaune now knew to be a man by the name of Arsenal Gray, had taken the hilt and a few shards of the broken blade soon after. He had also insisted that anything else the blonde wanted 'incorporated' be given to him and so the teen had also relinquished the fragments of Pyrrha's ruined weapons. When Jaune asked what for the man simply said 'you'll see' before telling him to rest up for the next day. Ever since that day he had felt this way, and while he could focus on what Arsenal had him do the anxiety was finally getting to him.

 _What is the point of all of this training if I don't even have a weapon_. Jaune thought to himself even as he threw his hoodie on.

Stepping out of his tent the teen was immediately aware of the chill in the air, his breath fogging as it left his lips and grass crunching beneath his feet as the morning dew frosted over. While this was somewhat new in the last few days, the routine itself was not. Clenching his fists to get the blood flowing at least slightly, Jaune did his best to ignore the slight cold clinging to his frame before taking off in a slight jog. When Arsenal had run through this routine with him the huntsman had had a chuckle at seeing his Pumpkin Pete hoodie, however unlike what Jaune had expected, the man did not insist changing it.

" _It's important to have something unique about you. If that means wearing a cute and fluffy sweatshirt, who am I to judge?"_ He had said.

It had been a strange moment, given that the day before he had kicked Jaune all around a clearing in the woods to see if the Blonde Knight had been 'serious' about training. Though at the same time it had pointed out a pattern he had noticed: All of the Huntsman or Huntsman-in-training he had met all seemed to be...eccentric in one way or another. Yang with her hair, Ruby with her obsession with weapons, Port's constant stories of 'back in the day'...the list went on. If that was the case, wearing a Pumpkin Pete hoodie wasn't the WORST thing in Remnant.

Now however was not the time to focus on fashion sense, for now it was time to focus on the two mile jog ahead of him.

* * *

Unbeknownst to Jaune, the Huntsman in question was not far away.

Arsenal had been busy the last two weeks, doing a number of things both above board and questionable. Aside from mentoring Jaune a few hours each day, his nights had been filled with two major tasks. The first was one that many of his colleagues would consider both a kindness and a sign of the infamous huntsman going 'soft'. The second however was something far more up his alley. Both however had required long nights stalking the Grimm infested campus of the fallen Beacon Academy.

 _The things I do for a favor._ He had found himself complaining many of those nights.

Arsenal Gray was not often a man of his word, but a favor was a favor and Glynda's particular favor had turned out to be an interesting one. It was for that reason that the man had made himself so busy, salvaging school databases and hammering away at red-hot metal until his arms burned. Though if he was honest his original self-appointed mission had been data retrieval, but as the picture of who Jaune Arc was began to form it had changed.

Originally he had intended to simply get rid of the ruined pieces and start from scratch, but when he had handed him a bunch of bronzed scrap the plan changed; And while Arsenal would not admit to it: Jaune had made an impression on him.

From what the Grimmwalker had managed to piece together, the Blonde was from a lineage of huntsman, though he himself was not the most skilled. In fact from what footage he managed to scrape together from his initiation he had not even had his aura. However what had been the most eye opening thing had been who had unlocked it and who had become his closest companion: Pyrrha Nikos.

The Invincible Girl was a casualty of the Battle of Beacon, the only physical remains being the very pieces Jaune had given him. It had been at that point that the plan had changed, and looking down at the sheathed blade in his lap Arsenal had a single thought cross his mind once more.

 _The things I do for a favor._

* * *

Fifteen minutes and two miles later, Jaune finally came to a halt.

Keeling over the blonde took in a number of slow, much needed breaths, savoring the cool air helping to vent heat that coursed through his body. Though on the bright side Jaune had to admit, he was thankful that he did not have to do it with his armor on. However, as it turned out, that had been because up until then the Blonde Knight had been doing it 'wrong'. While Arsenal had praised Jaune's physical strength and endurance, he was far more impressed with the former than the latter. To that end the armor had been removed and to that end the teen was instructed to simply run the two miles.

The difference being that he was to run it as fast as he could.

Sure enough, it was far more tiring; But after two weeks Jaune was starting to become accustomed to the pace and breath needed to not simply burn out halfway through. So all and all, a few deep breaths and a few minutes of rest was not the worst thing in the world. When his breath finally settled and heart no longer beat so hard in his chest, the Blonde Knight wiped his brow of sweat and started to make his way the short distance back to camp. Though even as the teen made his way back the rustle of grass behind him was enough to make Jaune weary. One of the many things his new teacher had been beating into him was situational awareness and sure enough there he was like the devil himself: Arsenal Gray.

"Havin' fun there, kid?" The Huntsman asked, a mirthful smile stretching uncomfortably across his face.

Jaune decided it did not fit him, and if anything told the Blonde Knight that something was up.

"Ssssuuurrreee?" Jaune answers slowly, an eyebrow raising slowly raising an eyebrow. "What did you have planned?"

The faux shock only reinforced the suspicion before the man had even spoke.

"Something planned? Me? And to think I was going to give my star pupil a gift." Arsenal insists, his smile becoming a slight frown as he moves closer.

"I'm your only pupil." Jaune reminds, and again the huntsman's face changes from one of slight sadness to its usual amused smirk.

"True enough. Catch." He orders, tossing a bundle towards the now bewildered Knight, who quickly moves to catch the aforementioned bundle.

The first thing Jaune immediately felt was the weight of it, which was heavier than he had expected. After ensuring he had a grip on the nearly two foot package, the next thing the blonde knight noticed was the fabric the bundle had been wrapped in. If it were just wrapping paper or plain cloth it would have been something to ignore but seeing the rich crimson made neat in simple twine had an immediate thought and reaction.

 _Pyrrha_.

Unintentionally clenching the package drew him from his thoughts as he noticed that whatever it was that was solid. Feeling for a knot in the twine, with a gentle tug the twine slacks and the fabric shifts slightly in his hands as it becomes free. Pulling the fabric from the bundle Jaune is met with something he had hoped for, but not exactly expected. For beneath the fabric was a sheathed sword, though Crocea Mors it was not.

For starters the blades full length was shorter and wider than his previous blade if the scabbard was anything to go by. In total length, the scabbard and hilt of the blade was perhaps a foot in total if slightly longer. Entirely marble in its coloration, the only thing that broke up the rather plain look was the golden dome at its center and the embellishments at its Chape and Locket. This lead the Blonde Knight to look upon the hilt of the sword, which was far less regal in comparison to its scabbard. Appearing to be made of a carved and polished darkwood, the grip also widened out into the pommel. However, this mostly modest once over would not prepare Jaune for what the blade itself was.

Gripping the one-handed blade in his right hand the blade pulled clean, reflecting the light of the sun for the first time. Immediately Jaune noted that the blade itself was longer than the scabbard, hinting that it was no ordinary sword. While it had a rather small, almost nonexistent crossguard, the base of the blade was adorned with gold similar to the scabbards locket. From there on the metal was two toned, with the edges and points continuing the same dull gold. The fuller, however, was the same crimson as the cloth it had come in. There was no mistaking now what Arsenal Gray had done, and even as his eyes scanned back and forth across the piece the homage was clear.

"Jaune Arc, allow me to introduce you to Crocea Mors Mk. II. I hope she's to your liking." Arsenal says, making Jaune nearly jump out of his skin as the huntsman's hand pressed against his shoulder.

"I-I honestly don't know what to say." The Knight responds, sheathing what the man had coined 'the new Crocea Mors'. "I don't even know how to fight with something like this."

"Well, before you even think about that why don't you see all of her features." Arsenal suggests, gently taking the weapon from the teen and giving him enough time to stuff the cloth in his hoodie.

Turning the weapon over reveals a pair of leather straps complete with tongue buckles, a pair of metallic loops being revealed along the locket.

"Unlike the old scabbard this is designed to strapped onto the arm like so." Arsenal explains, slipping the teens middle and ring fingers through the loops and revealing that they were in fact a mechanism within the shield. With that done he proceeded to quickly secure the scabbard using the straps, leaving the pommel of the blade a few inches behind Jaune's wrist.

"Now, you're probably wondering what the loops are for, so clench a fist for me." The Huntsman continues, with Jaune complying.

"Now, flex your wrist for me. Just once."

Upon complying and bringing his wrist towards himself there was a ' _click'_ as in an instant the scabbard transformed. Expanding outward nearly two more feet, panels along the scabbards sidewalls split and folded out; Turning the once foot long scabbard into a nearly three feet wide and four foot tall tower shield, the golden dome that had been an embellishment now serving as a bludgeon and core. Another quick flex later and the shield retracted nearly as quickly, the once massive shield once more compressed into the hilt.

"Not bad, huh? Works like a dream and leaves you in the perfect position to draw your sword." The Huntsman praises.

"Is that all? Not that I'm ungrateful I just think it would have been easier to make another sword." Jaune asks, giving moving his left arm around in an attempt to get used to the weight.

Arsenal smiled.

"Kid, I was making fun of you for your weapon before. I'd be a bad mentor if I didn't at least give you something. Come on, draw your sword." He insists, watching as Jaune pulls the aforementioned blade from its scabbard.

With a proper grip on the blade now, Jaune was thrown off by just how light the blade was. The older blade had been a war sword through and through: balanced but weighty and designed for cutting through armor, muscle and bone. It was perfect for fighting against other humanoids and while it was able to easily cut through Grimm it did took more effort than something designed for the task. To that end this weapon was the perfect solution, light but strong, Sharp but able to take all manner of punishment. It was the culmination of over a few hundred years of technological advancement, and Jaune had to admit: it was nice.

"Not a bad cast if I say so myself. Triple bonded CATS with a dust bonded Tungsten core. Nothing short of something it's equal will cut it." The Huntsman insisted, though Jaune had no idea what any of it meant.

"Is...that it?" Jaune asked again unsure if what he was told was the extent of differences he did not know.

"Not quite. Take a second and feel the grip in your hand, there's a slightly more gritty section. Try pushing it aside." Arsenal hints, getting a slightly scowl from Jaune at the roundabout answer.

However, setting himself to the task at hand a quick tactile runover of the grip in his hand revealed that sure enough, Arsenal had been telling the truth. Just beneath the tip of his index finger the normally smoothed surface of grip was more textured and felt more akin to...metal? Trying to pull the section closer did nothing, but pushing it away certainly had a result.

With another ' _click'_ Jaune's newest weapon transforms, the hilt expanding outwards until the pommel pressed into the earth bellow. Meanwhile above the blade splits, the cutting edges folding back and sinking into the hilt, the tip jutting forward and forming a glistening spearhead. What was once a shortsword was now a four foot spear.

Jaune had to admit, he had not expected that.

"Same as the shield, it's designed for quick transformation to maintain combat flexibility." He explains, and with another flick of the switch the spear returns to its original size.

Sheathing the weapon Jaune watches the Huntsman carefully.

"You can't seriously be just giving this to me." Jaune insists, looking at the ornate weapon now strapped to his arm.

"And why not? What I chose to do is my choice." The Huntsman insists in return, though this only serves to spur the Blonde on.

"But the co-"

"Is negligible, monetarily speaking." Arsenal cuts off, rolling his eyes before speaking again.

"Just take it before I change my mind and consider it the nicest thing I ever do for you."

Jaune was silent.

He wasn't sure what to think, let alone what to feel at the gesture. His mother and father had told him to not trust strangers, and while two weeks was a long time a few hours at most each day did not make someone a friend overnight. On the other hand this was a seemingly no strings attached offer of not only a brand new shield, but a spear and sword as well. So reluctantly the teen said nothing, instead simply opting to nod at the man.

Cracking a slight smile Arsenal simply gave him a shove before speaking.

"Go on kid, grab a bite to eat and meet me by the edge of the camp at say...noon?"

"Why? Got another training routine to run me through?" Jaune asks.

The grin he got should have been the first warning.

"Well kid, you've got a new weapon. Might as well take it for a test drive and given there's more Grimm out in that city than cockroaches no time like the present."

And with that, Arsenal simply walked away, leaving Jaune with the anxiety of seeing real combat for the first time since the Battle of Beacon.


	4. Chapter Three: A City of Ghosts

**AN:** Hello all…1,452 of you! Have to say, the fact that so many of you have been reading this scares the hell out of me. I'm glad you're all at least enjoying the mysteries and changes I've started dipping into the series. I honestly don't have too much to say in this one except for as always feel free to review and comment what you like or don't like, things like that. It always helps to know where I can improve my craft, or if not improve my craft at least fix what I've done wrong. That being said let's get right back into it.

* * *

The City of Vale was quiet.

Other than the rustle of the wind through the ruined buildings and the the echoing Grimm footsteps on cracked and broken streets. Even as the sun began to dip across the sky Arsenal could not help but find morbid amusement at the situation. What had once been a thriving metropolis was now serving as his student's training ground, playing amongst the bones of civilization. Watching as the teen continued to make his way down the long avenue with his head on a swivel, the Grimmwalker had to stifle a chuckle.

 _And they call Grimm the animals._ He thought, leaning back against the shingled roof he had made into his perch.

"You know, Arsenal. When I said Jaune needed a teacher I had expected you to actually teach him." A voice cuts the silence, followed shortly thereafter by the sound of heels clattering against the ceramic tiles.

"And I am training him, simply not in the way you would probably find acceptable. Though I have to ask what's the occasion; I have not seen you since you asked me to take this assignment." Arsenal replies to the once assistant dean.

"When the person I put in charge of one of my students runs off into the city and leaves them to the Beowolves it is worth my attention. So then, I must ask, what are you training him in exactly? How to get yourself killed?" the pale blonde chides, prompting the other Huntsman to shrug.

"While it is something I am well versed in, no. The kid thinks too much, so I'm having him do the exact opposite: Fight without enough time to think farther beyond the next ten seconds." He replies, watching as Jaune slams his shield into the chest of a beowolf before stabbing his new sword into its exposed abdomen.

"And you could not think of a better means of doing that then simply letting him go at it?" Glynda continues to push.

A sigh is heard as Arsenal rolls his eyes, unbeknown to his once teacher.

"Unless you want him to follow more literally in my footsteps Ms. Goodwitch, I assure you he's in as much danger as I need him to believe he is in." He insists before pointing the sky and drawing a few circles with his finger. "See for yourself."

Looking up Glynda saw what could only be described as unique. It was not the first time she had seen the phenomenon, let alone from Arsenal. However to see a flight of Nevermore's circling high in the sky over the city and _Not_ immediately targeting the huntsmen below? That was something a scant few people could do.

At least, there were few people who could do it and be considered _sane_ ; But then again, Arsenal and his team were not what Glynda could ever consider 'normal' huntsmen.

"You know you're not supposed to do that." Glynda reminds the young man, though this gets another shrug from Arsenal.

"Well, given there's no witness, Whit' isn't here to stop me, and it isn't hurting anyone who cares? If you'd let me use it more I could probably clean this whole mess up like _That_." He responds, snapping his fingers for emphasis.

"And you remember the last time you tried something like this." She counters, though to this the Grimmwalker says nothing, instead focusing on the fight going on bellow.

If Glynda were a less composed person, she would have sighed at the behavior. But at the same time she knew that what she had said had been what most people would call 'a low blow'. She had known Arsenal and his team since before they had even been a team, and was one of very few people who knew the full story of Team ICAS. Of all the members and their varying degrees of 'uniqueness' however, Arsenal was the one who she and the rest of the Brotherhood considered the greatest risk. So it had been a surprise to her and many others when Ozpin had chosen Arsenal of all people who advocated for him to join their group.

Though it was moments like this where Glynda wished the groups now deceased leader had reconsidered.

* * *

For all of his fears, Jaune was surprised at how easy it was to get back into the rhythm of things.

Blocking a swipe from another Beowolf, the Blonde Knight forced the beasts up and away before bringing his new blade across the creatures exposed legs. Watching as the blade seamlessly swam through the midnight grimmflesh, watching the nearly nine-foot tall creature's legs give out as the tendons sheer apart Jaune does not hesitate. Flipping the grip on his blade the blonde plunged the blade into the beasts skull, passing through the armored bone like a hot knife through butter. The beast no longer moving Jaune continued to move past, pulling his blade free as it begins to disintegrate away into dust.

 _Scratch Eight._ Jaune thinks to himself, scanning the area ahead of him to see if any more Grimm were the immediate threat.

Finding none the teen sheaths his sword and retracts the shield before leaning himself up against one of the abandoned vehicles that littered the road. In the three hours he had been making his way through this particular section of the city, the Blonde had not run into too many Grimm. Though given that in the two weeks since the Fall the city itself had more or less turned into the Dark Creature's territory, that was to be expected. From what little Jaune had retained from his Grimm studies, Areas with high populations of Grimm often had them in far less density.

Though given that he was fighting through one of the more ruined avenues, it may simply have been the fact that larger Grimm were still beyond.

Looking at the road there was a fracture in the road a few dozen feet away, no doubt from the surface collapsing into a subway tunnel below. Jaune could only imagine what had caused the damage, as snapped rebar and mangled vehicles littered the road around the fault. Drawing his sword again, the Blonde Knight presses off his once resting place and continued on towards the fault, preparing himself how little he could for what could possibly be waiting for him.

* * *

The fact that _Junior's_ was still open was a certainly a surprise.

While the outer facade was all but demolished and the windows on the upper floors shattered, it had become a rather popular spot for the Huntsman who were on 'clean-up' duty. For most it was a way to at least destress, get a drink and pretend like the world hadn't fallen all around them. For Arsenal however, it was a source of information. Stepping down the grand staircase into the bar proper the Huntsman had to admit: it had seen better days.

The lighting tiles that made up the floor were cracked in places and the lighting fixture was in a heap along the far left wall. The bar and its contents were equally disheveled, with missing stools replaced with ramshackle scrap from broken booths and tables that littered the wide space. Even in this condition, however, there were still patrons huddled in small groups near the bar.

The Grimmwalker had to hand it to Junior, for as much of a scumbag as he could be: he knew what was important in his own way.

Sidling up to the bar and sinking into one of the impromptu seats at the bar, it did not take long for Arsenal's intended target made his own approach. Though his vest was torn in some places and his tie was undone, Junior still carried himself with an air of professionalism; or at least as close to professionalism as someone like him could carry themselves with.

"Arsenal Gray, I haven't seen your face around here in a long time. What brings you to this watering hole, Business or pleasure?" He ask, his tone kind but his words less so.

"Sadly I have other arrangements so it is strictly business for now. I'm looking for Qrow, have you seen him?" The Huntsman asks, his arms propping him up at the bar.

With a furrow of his brow, Junior scoffs. "And just what business could I give you? I don't know if you've noticed, kid; but the only business I've got right now is pleasure."

"Exactly, which is why out of every person in the kingdom right now you're probably the only dive bar that would know where I could find him. And if not find him at least point me in the right direction." Arsenal counters, still passive in the face of the towering barkeep.

Junior for his part, was quiet. For a split second Arsenal sees something flicker in his eyes before he speaks up.

"If I tell you what I know I only ask for a favor in return." Junior offers.

"And what would that be? I can't play bouncer for you if that's what you're looking for. " Arsenal teases, though Junior responds simply by pulling out a worn black bottle and a glass.

Watching the bartender as he worked, the cork of the bottle was quickly removed and a bright red fluid pours from it into the glass. Recorking and setting the bottle away and retrieving a small grated slip of metal and setting it atop the rim of the glass.

"You aren't making what I think you're making, are you?" Arsenal asks, watching as the taller man sets a small cube of clearly soaked sugar atop the grate.

"Consider it a sweetner to the deal." Junior advises, before striking a match and setting it to the cube for but a moment.

Immediately the cube bursts into flame and with a flick of his wrist the cube falls in. Not wasting a moment the man pulls a small blue vial from his belt and dumps the contents within. Immediately the concoction extinguishes and Junior slides the now sanguine colored fluid to Arsenal. Thinking it would be rude to deny the gesture, the huntsman in question gently wraps his fingers around the beverage, the glass still warm from the fire.

It wasn't every day you were given a glass of Grimm's Blood on the house.

Raising the glass to his lips, the Grimmwalker takes a sip of the rather expensive cocktail. Immediately the still lingering heat of the flame is there, the warmth of the beverage only matched by the wash of flavor that came with it. From what Arsenal understood of the drink the main component was a mash of a number of herbs and spices from around Remnant, something he was now greatly enjoying as it washed down his throat. It was a complex drink, and while Arsenal considered himself a simple man, it was more than pleasant to his senses.

"The boss wants to speak with you, she's up in the penthouse." Junior cuts in, and immediately three things occur:

One: Arsenal swallows out of surprise, unknowingly forcing the alcohol down the wrong pipe.

Two: the remaining of the drink is forced from the Grimmwalker's mouth as he spits out the rest of the drink.

Three: He asks a single question: "What?!"

* * *

There was good news and bad news.

The Good news? Jaune had found out what had caused the fault in the road, The bad news?

The Fault in the ground was a King Taijitu Pit.

Locking eyes with one of the massive serpent's eyes, Jaune could swear his heart stopped. Sure he had fought Ursa, Boarbatusk and Beowolves in the past; But most massive Grimm the teen had ever encountered had been taken down as a team. Watching as one of the beasts massive tongues darted out and licked at the air, the ivory head turning slightly towards Jaune. Forcing his fear down at least long enough for a singular idea to pass through his mind:

 _Run!_

Jumping down the slight rise in the terrain, only for the sound of crumbling concrete and the rumbling hiss of the massive beast as it darts after him, it's gaping maw only a few short feet from the Blonde's head. Taking off in a sprint, Jaune is at least thankful that for the moment he was nimble enough to maneuver through the broken and cluttered terrain. However, hearing the sound of bending metal and breaking glass makes it clear that while it was an advantage, the creature was not letting it get in the way. Seeing the road split ahead the Knight feels his heart sink for a moment, knowing that with the King Taijitu hot on his heels the chances of being able to change direction without becoming Grimm food were slim.

 _Come on Jaune, left or right, just make a choice._ He chides himself, the sound of devastation behind him growing ever louder.

Finding no answer and with the looming threat of death on the horizon, Jaune felt a sudden calmness overcome him. The only reason he had even noticed the change was the fact that he had only really felt this way once before. It had been in the last days of his first year at Beacon, and he had found himself spending the late afternoon with Pyrrha. They had been training for hours and it had finally come to an end. Yet instead of returning to the dorm the duo had opted to simply lay in the grass, enjoying the warm summer air and company.

Yet here, in a moment of near death, the same calmness and tranquility sank into his bones.

Looking at the options ahead of him, Jaune saw an opportunity and took it. Channeling his aura into his legs the Blonde Knight threw himself forward, bringing his shield up and bracing himself as an explosion of dust and glass surrounds him. Giving a grunt as his body lands amongst broken furniture and glass shards, quickly turning himself around the face of the black snake ploughs into the facade of the building Jaune had flown into. Thankfully the building's stone face held, giving the Blonde Knight enough time to get up and make a beeline for the staircase. Making up to the second floor in time the teen heard a crash as a plume of smoke and debris filled the lower floor, followed by the sound of scraping furniture and hissing of beasts. Continuing up the stairs the sound of falling tree's fills the air as the black head of the King Taijitu explodes through the floor, maw wide and yards long fangs glistening in what little light filtered inside. Moving quickly, Jaune lashes out with his new blade, cutting a gash below the Serpentine Grimm's nostril, the creature giving a shriek as its mouth clamps shut.

However this is short lived as the beasts white head slams into the second floor, shattering the windows and turning what success the knight had into a moot one.

Looking between the two eyes the Blonde Knight has an idea, a crazy idea, a potentially suicidal idea but one that could very well work. Slamming his sword against his shield, Jaune begins to yell at the beast.

"Come on, you scaly son of a bitch. Come and get me!" He roars, his muted fear having transformed into anger.

Watching the head rear back, the blonde immediately retracts the shield and begins to run to the back of the stairwell, barely avoiding as the massive pale head slams again into the wall, the stone and wood frame caving inwards as its massive head makes the black head sink back under the floor Jaune rushes forward and with a grunt leaps across the hole in the floor the beast had left, and the briefest glance giving way for Jaune to see the beasts jewel like eyes watching him with predatory hunger. His feet barely touching the shattered flooring, Jaune rolled through the landing, the floor where he had touched down crumbling away into the maw of the King Taijitu below.

Where was Arsenal when Jaune needed him?!

* * *

 _Who still uses their penthouse as a meeting place when the power's out and the only way up is twelve flights of stairs?_

This was the question Arsenal had to ask himself as he rounded the final bend in the staircase to the top floor. While he understood the need for protocol forcing him to do such a thing when he was tasked with clearing a city _and_ training a child? It was ludicrous in the extreme.

The drink was good though, he couldn't deny that.

Coming up the last few flights of stairs, the Grimmwalker rolls his shoulders and pushes on through the plainly painted metal door of the stairwell. Slipping past the door revealed a far more decadent interior than one may have expected. Polished black and white tiles, red carpeting and faux marble pillars lined the hall; With brass light fixtures and art installations breaking up the monotony. It screamed of class, or at the very least the imitation of it.

So it was no surprise to Arsenal that Roman Torchwick's abode would be presented in such a way.

It had been some time since the gray haired hunter had thought of the crime boss. In fact the last time he even thought of him had been the last time the two had seen each other nearly five years prior. Back then the bowler hat wearing crime lord had only just been starting out and had been wise enough to back down when the two had come to blows. Though even before then the two had never gotten along, so seeing the gaudy display got a chuckle out of him.

 _The more things change, the more they stay the same_. He muses, moving down the hall in silence.

Something had been bugging him since he'd come up. Junior had insisted that his boss was female, and that 'she' would speak with him. The last time he had seen Roman he was certainly male so unless the petty thief-turned kingpin had been hiding something from him something had happened. However Arsenal knew a negotiation when he saw one, so for now he decided he'd play nice.

Might actually be something worthwhile.

Reaching the far end of the hall and stopping in front of the twin hardwood doors. Taking a deep breath the Huntsman grabbed the pair of gold handles and with a twist pulled the doors open. Immediately the feeling of a breeze hit his senses and upon giving a look over the room it became obvious as to why. The far wall had been floor-to-ceiling windows that had been smashed in, the dying afternoon light and wind filtering through the now open wall.

Other than that however the room had once been nice.

Split between a standing bar areas and a open den area, it was easy to see that beyond the rich aesthetic it was a comfortable place. Dark Hardwood floors, granite countertops, leather couches and thick carpets. Closing the doors behind him, Arsenal takes a few more steps into the room before deciding to speak up.

"Hello?"

No response.

Giving a sigh the Grimmwalker plants himself onto one of the couches, closing his eyes before something dances across his senses. Strawberries. Given the fact that he was nearly one hundred and fifty feet in the air and it was early October, this shouldn't be possible. It seemed whoever was here was playing coy. Grinning slightly Arsenal could not help but be amused.

 _Alright then, game on._

Calling upon his Aura in a small trickle, Arsenal could feel the slight tingle of the energy along the back of his neck and up into his skull. While he did not have the most flashy Semblance, or even the most noticeable one; What Arsenal had was an effective one. Immediately the Grimmwalker became aware of the other person in the room, or more specifically their emotions. On the surface it was amusement, mirth and a sense of confidence; Given what was happening it was no doubt stemming from the fact that whoever it was thought that he was unaware of her. However below that was where things became far more worrisome.

For raging beneath this otherwise sweet exterior was a torrent of violent emotions.

Anger, Fear, Uncertainty, but more than anything pain. It wasn't the sort of pain that one could accrue from simply living, it was too sharp, too much...too fresh. Just as he was about to cut off the connection he felt one last emotion. The faintest spark of hope, though before he could follow it the sensation fizzled out.

"You know, manners usually dictate that one welcomes a guest into their home." Arsenal says, opening his eyes and looking slightly left of himself.

In a shimmer of iridescent blue slivers reality itself seems to fall apart before the huntsmans eyes, revealing a surprising sight.

They were certainly female, given the rounded face and long flowing hair of pink and chocolate brown. Her eyes equally unique, though the colors were reversed with her right eye being brown and her left pink. Immediately after this was the height difference, with even Arsenal at his sitting height being just shorter than her standing. How such a small woman was able to draw Junior's respect enough to change loyalties was unknown...or at least it had been until he saw _it._

For clutched in her hands was a very familiar black bowler hat, complete with red silk band and petrified Nevermore feather. There were many things the Grimmwalker could say wouldn't happen: All the Grimm disappearing from Remnant, the Schnee Dust Company advocating for Faunus rights and Roman Torchwick willingly separating from his precious hat. Something had gone wrong; Terribly, terribly wrong.


	5. Chapter Four: A Call and Response

**AN:** Hello...all 2,172 of you! (Fuck me that's a lot of people) Anyways welcome back. Sorry that this took a bit longer than my usual pace; Just been busy on my end with school and so had to focus on that a bit more than usual. Anyways I don't have much to say so without further adieu, let's get into it!

* * *

Alexander had to say, seeing the hooded figure approach the bared part of his 'visitation' cell had not been part of his plan for the day.

Then again, given the state of affairs outside the prison and the tragic removal of filet mignon from his evening menu due to said affairs was _also_ not part of his plan. So watching as the stranger finally come to a halt before the bars he decides to entertain them. Not only because they peaked his interest and visitors were rare; But because it would take another twenty minutes for the janitorial staff to dispose of the nameless guard who told him his dinner would have to change. To that end the entertainer-turned-prisoner put on his award winning smile and gave a warm, quick chuckle.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of company? And with so much going on outside no less." he says, getting to his feet from the plain metal chair, the steel soles of his freshly shined leather dance shoes clacking against the concrete floor.

The Figure says nothing for a moment, their blue eyes seeming to glow with what little light pierced the darkness the hood cast.

"My Master has seen fit to try and hold an audience with you, Alexander Palmer."

It is immediately apparent that the voice is male, carrying the same smoothness and confidence that Alexander himself put into his outward persona. However they were also restrained, nervous even? But why would they be such if they were simply a messenger? Pondering on it for a moment the proverbial light bulb goes off in his head.

"Is that so? Well, I'm not due to go anywhere for another five years so why don't they schedule a meeting of their own? Though, then again you're used to playing second fiddle aren't you?" Alexander teases, watching with amusement as the figure's eyes narrow as the light seems to dim around the figure.

"Oh tut, tut you should know better. I have eyes everywhere, my boy. Though I have to ask what brings you here of all places? Last I had heard things were going quite swimmingly in Atlas. Homesick perhaps?" He continues to push.

For a moment the entertainer expects some sort of strike or quip however the figure does not; Instead the shadows calming before the figure speaks again.

"I was here on another venture when I was given the order. Though I would tread carefully, Palmer. My Master is not the sort that takes kindly to your little games." He warns, crossing his arms.

"And just what could your 'master' want with an incarcerated man?" Alexander asks, continuing to approach the bars of his cell.

"You have your talents and skills, skills that would prove incredibly useful." The Stranger insists.

"Ahh but isn't that what everyone wants? Skills, Talent, _Power._ So tell me, what could you offer me in exchange, hm?" Alexander asks. "Surely you did not come to negotiate without something of value."

At this the Figure's cloaked visage begins to tremble, a muted laugh wracking their body. When it finally ended, a hand appeared from within the folds of the cloak clutching a vial of deep purple fluid.

Puzzled, Alexander tilted his head and raised a brow. "And what is that supposed to be?"

"Well, if I had been here on purpose it would have been the one thing you've been searching for. However which such little time...grape soda." The Figure answers, pulling the stopper and chugging it down.

"And why would I have wanted a glass of grape soda? I'm not a child."

It was at this thay the figure began to smile, the white of their teeth glinting in the light.

"Maybe not. But if it _was_ what is being offered you, you'd probably be able to feel your fingers again right now." The figure changed.

Externally, Alexander 'The Dixie' Palmer did not have any reaction other than raise an eyebrow and chortle.

Internally however, was a completely different story. In the whole of Remnant there were only three people knew about his particular _condition_ and that was himself, his incredibly well paid doctor and his supplier of Dust. He knew both of them better than anyone and had quite the healthy amount of blackmail on each to ensure they did not suddenly contract 'loose lips'. Yet here he was, being confronted not only with the fact that he was ill by a near stranger...but being offered a cure.

"Is that so?" He asks slowly, bringing a free hand to scratch his chin.

The figure nods.

"And that's simply for signing up. Whatever is beyond that will no doubt be equally within your best interests."

The ball was now squarely in The Dixie's court. On the one hand he had a stranger promising what seemed ludicrous, insane even. He had been looking for a cure since he had become a celebrity and he was _completely_ aware that was _none_. Yet on the other if the offer was true then Alexander would be rid of the one thing that haunted his waking mind. And the only price he would pay is 'loyalty' to do something well beneath him no doubt?

"Tell your Master I will accept the terms when they are presented to me." Alexander informs the stranger, turning to leave when a new feminine voice speaks up:

" _ **I believe we can do that now, if you have somewhere more private.**_ "

Spinning on the ball of his foot Alexander watches as from beneath the figures cloak a Grimm of all things floats out. No larger than a soccer ball and with numerous bladed tentacles trailing from its 'bottom' as it bobbed within the air. However, it was the clearly humanoid face that appeared with the fog that danced about the jellyfish-like creatures 'bulb' that indicated exactly where the voice had come from.

Walking to the door of his cell the man retrieved a key from his pant pocket and slipped it into the door's respective keyhole. Turning and retrieving the key the door slides open without a sound, Alexander simply gesturing to the now enterable space before making his way to the back wall of his cell. Pressing a few seemingly loose bricks the wall began to fold in, revealing a pair of double doors.

"Come, come. We can talk over dinner. I apologize for the mess in advance, you know how hired help can be I'm sure miss…?" Alexander asks, grabbing the door handle.

" _ **...Salem.**_ "

* * *

Jaune was really coming to hate snakes.

The plan had been simple: Pin the King Taijitu's heads in the building, knock out the supports and let the building crush the beast. However as it turned out the massive Grimm was smarter than it appeared; And while the building was now riddled with holes Jaune was still no closer to killing the beast. Looking down at the waiting serpent now fifty feet below him, Jaune could officially confirm: The plan had not worked. Tightening the grip on his sword, the teen could not help but feel frustrated. Things were so much easier when he had his team, when the biggest thing he needed to worry about was planning how to take something down and trust his comrades to handle it.

Without them though, Jaune felt trapped; Standing atop a building in ruins and looking down at the beast waiting for him to come down.

 _Pull yourself together, Jaune._ The Knight thought to himself, ignoring the rolling hiss the Grimm below released. _You got yourself this far, you can do this._

Yet even as he tried to convince himself of this, the small part of him spoke otherwise. He had been training for two weeks, but it had all been physical and mental work. Heck, the weapons he had now were given to him just hours ago and he had barely any training with them. What chance did he have when he was basically walking into the problem blind and without an idea of how to handle it?!

Looking down at the aforementioned weapons, Jaune once again saw the crimson and bronzed blade of the new Crocea Mors and immediately he was brought back to his earlier thoughts.

There was no way to avoid thinking of Pyrrha, having spent a year-and-a-half with her training the sight of her and her iconic weapons had been burned into his mind. It was probably what had pushed him to take the few pieces of her equipment he could salvage. So seeing it now reforged into his own weapon, while it did not make him a better huntsman, did remind the Blonde Knight of what he was fighting for.

 _Jaune, everybody needs a little push from time to time. It doesn't make you any different from the rest of us. You made it to Beacon! That speaks volumes of what you're capable of!_

Wincing and shaking his head, Jaune tried to stop himself from picturing his teammate. Yet try as he might to ignore the briefest flash of her emerald green eyes, He could not ignore the piercing gaze before once again the bleak world in front of him returned. To even remember that of all things at such a time hurt, though then again anything involving the once Invincible Girl had been.

 _I'm capable, just not capable of something like this._

It was true. After all, In all the time he had been at Beacon he had been more focused on smaller Grimm. Things like Beowolf and Boarbatusk, with Ursa being perhaps the largest of what he could handle confidently. Something like this had always been a team effort, or at the very least something the rest of his team could handle. Jaune had always known he was the weakest link amongst his teammates, but he was certainly smart enough to be able to admit it.

 _Then let me help you!_

Again a flash of memory, this time a night he could never hope to forget. It had been the night after he had killed his first Ursa and 'dealt' with Cardin. Even after how terrible he had been as both a friend and team leader she had been willing to train him, to help him. It had been the first step to friendship with the girl for Jaune, and the moment that truly started the Blonde Knight down the path of a Huntsman.

 _Come on! I know you get frustrated, but you must keep trying._

Again another memory, but this time it was not simply the words of a dead woman.

This time a warmth began to bubble from Jaune's core. Unlike the usual cool sensation he attributed to his Aura, the sensation felt more...alive. It didn't bend to his will so much as he simply directed it. However as the warmth continued to surge through him, he could not deny the rush it gave him. Exhausted muscles sprang back to life, the fatigue he had been managing all but gone and his senses sharper than they had been just moments before. Maybe it was just a trick of the mind, maybe Jaune simply wanted to believe that his friend was supporting him from beyond the grave.

Whatever the case, Jaune knew one thing was certain: Maybe, _juuussst_ maybe, Pyrrha was right.

Taking a breath, the Blonde Knight prepares himself, his aura flaring to life as he dug his heels into the ruined floor. Pressing through and jumping the ground splinters as the Blonde is sent skyward, the heat engulfing his body cooled by the billowing wind encompassing him. Bellow him the King Taijitu simply watched, its twin heads swaying in seeming anticipation. Reaching the apex of the jump, Jaune twisted himself around; Facing the Grimm below head first as his body began the long plummet down to earth. Closer and closer, faster and faster he fell, Jaune brought his arm forward and with a twitch of his fingers deployed his new shield. Nearly buckling the arm beneath the resistance, again the warmth comes to his aid, steadying his arm and preparing him for what was to come.

With a roar, Jaune steeled his nerves and readied himself for impact.

* * *

Roman Torchwick was dead.

Having watched the whole of the recording the conman had left, the Grimmwalker was unsure how to feel. On the one hand he and Roman had never gotten along, even back when Arsenal had been to Beacon. On the other it was essentially the man's last wish and while it wasn't exactly for him, Arsenal was qualified to do it. Leaning forward in his seat, Arsenal could not help but sigh and run a hand through his grayed locks. Looking to the woman he now knew to be Neopolitan, her heterochromatic eyes focused on him.

"I can see why Junior offered me in particular." Arsenal says, watching the girls eyebrow raise.

Chuckling, Arsenal slides a hand onto the table, grabbing the projector and slipping it into his pocket.

"Tell me, what do you know about Huntsman. And I don't mean the weapons and all that, I mean how they operate." He asks, the girl giving a shrug in response before rolling her eyes.

So nothing, got it.

"Well, let me tell you. See you've got your C-Class which is the polite way of saying 'student huntsman', you've got your B through S classes, which are your serious 'I have a licence Huntsman' and then there's the people like me: The X-Class." Arsenal quickly explains, counting them on his fingers for good measures.

"The X-Class itself isn't something unique, in fact it's more of an attachment to a prior class of licence than anything." He continues, watching the 'no shit' look continue to prevail on Neo's face.

"However, that distinction is important because it means I'm qualified to hunt the most dangerous creatures on Remnant: Humans and Faunus." The Grimmwalker finishes, finally seeing the light bulb go off over her head.

It was probably the nicest way he could describe his profession, which was essentially a licenced manhunter and Huntsman killer. However it was a necessary evil, one that every kingdom of Remnant understood. After all, if they did not understand the need for Huntsman who were ready and willing to do the dirtiest work they wouldn't have a legal licence for it. That wasn't even factoring in the moral and social stigma that came with putting that black little 'X' on his licence, but it had been something Arsenal had always been particularly skilled at.

That wasn't to say he _enjoyed_ his work, he was simply one of the few people who could stomach it.

Returning his attention to the girl, Arsenal nearly jumps out of his skin as she was now nearly inches from his face, her eyes sparkling in practical excitement. He wasn't sure if it was simply because he was now 'cool bad boy' or if the idea of being able to legally murder people was what had peaked her interest. Either way the sudden and near complete violation of his personal space bothered him. Leaning back into his chair it seemed to take Neo a moment to recognize that perhaps, just perhaps, it had been a bit too close.

Watching her scoot back and stand up, the gray haired huntsman let himself relax.

"Not going to lie, in all the time I've been doing this you're the first person to have that kind of reaction to my job." He says flatly, only for the girl to stick out her tongue in response.

She was a strange one alright, however given that she had been Torchwick's associate that was to be expected. Sure Arsenal had been more preoccupied with larger threats in the last years of his career, there was no way to ignore the four years that he and his team had spent dealing with the man and his predecessor. But even then, the now-dead criminal had a flair for bringing together strange bedfellows. However, he had also been smart enough to keep such fringe elements under control...something Arsenal doubted Neapolitan could manage.

But that was not his place to say.

"Well, I suppose that concludes our business then." The Huntsman wonders aloud, getting a nod in response from the otherwise quiet criminal.

"I will start putting out my feelers when I get back in contact with the outside world. While I can't promise any quick results, I will do what I can." He adds, getting to his feet and extending a hand.

For a moment Neo stares at the extended hand before taking it. It was strange, Arsenal had to admit, shaking hands with the now crime boss of one of the biggest cartels on Remnant. While he had certainly done so in the past due to his need to get close to targets, this was the first time he genuinely sought to seal a deal. Mind you, the deal consisted of doing what he was probably going to be tasked with anyway but that was neither here nor there.

Following the shorter woman out of the ruined penthouse and back into the hall, Arsenal watched as with a simple button press the pair of gold inlaid doors to the elevator slid open. Normally this would not be an issue, however given the fact that Junior had mentioned not even half an hour earlier that the elevators were nonfunctional an issue was to be had. Stepping into the lift alongside his companion, Arsenal had to ask:

"Let me guess, the elevators work fine and Junior's just fucking with me?"

To her credit, Neopolitan was entirely caught off guard by the question; Given the confused look she gave. Though the confusion quickly turned to muted laughter as the now Crime Lord no doubt took amusement at the rather simple prank that had been played upon him. While Arsenal himself certainly saw the humor in it, the thought of getting back at the Bartender took immediate president.

"You know given the state of things it's awfully nice of your bar to be serving free drinks." The Veteran Hunter idly states as he steps from the elevator back into the ruined club level of the building.

Not hearing the footsteps of the girl beside him, Arsenal kept his amusement to himself; Instead wishing that the revenge he had gotten would be just as easy as tracking down Cinder Fall.

* * *

Things were going...well, Jaune wasn't exactly sure _how_ they were going.

Having collided with the King Taijitu's waiting maw shield first, the Blonde had expected a far worse result. However instead of his arm buckling and shattering under the force as he had expected, the impact had managed to swat the goliath beast's head aside. Sure, it had hurt like hell but he had managed to hit it _hard._ While the white head was already moving to snap at the Knight, the black one that had been fortunate enough to taste his shield, was limp. Jaune had doubts that he had killed the head, but it bought him time.

And time was worth his weight in gold for every second he had.

Diving to the side, Jaune managed to roll to his feet as the pale head of the serpentine Grimm plough into the torn ground he had occupied. Looking up at its massive soulless eye, he dug his heels and sprung, his body being propelled by a mix of adrenaline, aura and suicidal confidence. Closing the gap in a few seconds the Blonde Knight brought his blade back, its blade shimmering with the familiar white glow of his aura. Like a hot knife through butter the new Crocea Mors pierced the scaled flesh, digging into the flesh beneath as a sound akin to wheezing steam burst from the Grimm's mouth. It was a victory in Jaune's mind, or it least it was up until the Grimm began to thrash and writhe.

Jaune had essentially become a bull rider; Except the bull was far larger and his saddle consisted of a freshly impaled sword.

Holding on for dear life, Jaune felt like his arms were being ripped off; Such was the force with which the King Taijitu thrashed. If Jaune had anything else on his mind, he'd probably compare it to being a tick on a dog. Unfortunately for Jaune, the only thing on his mind was trying desperately not let go. Transforming the impaled sword, the Blonde Knight had hoped that the larger shaft would provide a better grip. What he was not prepared for, however, was the segmentation of his grip.

With a yelp of surprise and an internal curse at his mistake, Jaune was sent spiraling away.

Jerking to a halt as his body impacted and buckled a toppled over car, the blonde's vision swimming from the blow. Pulling himself free of his impromptu metallic safety net, Jaune was again thankful for his aura. If he lacked it there was no questioning he would have just become a red smear on a broken car. Shakey as his legs were, he was still standing, and weapon or no weapon he was still alive.

He still had a chance.

Looking at the twin-headed serpent, Jaune formed a very simple plan: Get back Crocea Mors and kill the King Taijitu. Sure in hindsight he had actually made the whole ordeal _more_ complicated by losing his weapon, but that was a whole other argument. Bringing his shield up, the weaponless knight stood his ground. Without a weapon going on the offense was pointless; Thankfully if there was one thing Jaune was it was durable. Watching as both heads of the beast turn to face him once again the feeling of warmth overcame him.

 _I hope you're watching up there, Pyrrha_.

With that thought in mind Jaune watched as the twin snakes surged forward in a tidal wave of Grimmflesh. Closer and closer they came, and yet still Jaune stood unflinching, his eyes flicking from the pair of heads to his still impaled weapon. If the Knight was going to see this through he was going to have to time it perfectly, something the teen would not attribute to himself. It was a suicidal plan in every way, but as the snakes massive heads came within a dozen feet the option to reconsider was well and truly gone. Retracting his shield in its entirety, Jaune flared his Aura throughout his entire body and charged.

He had one shot, however he had a number of things working in his favor.

First and foremost he had his size which, while small in comparison to the King Taijitu, paid for itself at such close range. So long as he could stay mobile in theory he would be able to avoid its bites. Second was the Grimm's momentum, which at this point was far too great for them to course correct as the Blonde continued to charge forward. The last, and perhaps the greatest advantage, was his intellect; Because while the black head of the Grimm saw a meal, Jaune saw a crucial mistake. Kicking as hard as he could with his right foot, Jaune catapulted himself to the left.

Right in the direction of his still impaled Crocea Mors.

Slamming into the wall of flesh and muscle that was the King Taijitu's side, Jaune grasped the elongated handle and pulled; A spew of near-black ichor bubbling from the open wound. Looking behind him Jaune was glad to see that sure enough the black head of the Grimm was still after him, its maw wide open and hoping to seal his fate. However, Jaune was not done and jumped again, barely clearing the nose of the would-be killer Grimm in the process.

 _Come on, come on._ The teen thought to himself, spinning the spear in his hand and charging it with every ounce of Aura he could muster. _Stayyy riiiiggggghhhttt THERE!_

Throwing the spear with all his might Jaune watched as the red and bronze missile seemed to explode into motion, a white trail of energy following behind it as the impromptu stake hit its mark. Driving through the roof of the massive Grimm's jaw, its fangs being forced down by the impact. However it wasn't enough and with a cry the beast begins to raise its head only for Jaune to slam into it, his shield crashing down atop the Spear's pommel. This does the trick and with a sound akin to rending fabric the King Taijitu's fangs sink into its own flesh, the white head shrieking as its muscles spasm before going limp.

Jaune had done it.

Though before the exhausted Huntsman could even begin to celebrate his victory, sight of black and red flakes all around him became apparent. It was no secret that Grimm corpses often disintegrated within minutes of their demise, but never had Jaune dreaded the fact until now. Immediately he moves to try and get to his feet, but what strength he had was gone with his Aura; His body no longer able to draw upon the sweet sustenance of his souls strength. He had survived the fight and given everything he had, but as his body fell back to earth he had only one thought.

 _You were right._

* * *

There were few times that The Dixie felt that a deal was genuinely in his favor.

That was simply the nature of business in many cases, making deals that strengthened you and ruined your competitors. After all, it had been how Alexander had gotten to where he was now. But looking at the face of Salem within the shifting fog of her Grimm messenger, he could see no real downside to the bargain _yet._

"So let me get this straight, just so we're on the level here: You're giving me a fix for my condition and a seat at your whole 'New Order' in exchange for me doing what I was going to do anyway?" He asks.

Salem gives him a smile, though then again he wasn't exactly sure if it was a smile or a trick of the fog.

" _ **That is a most simple way of putting it, but yes. A cure, a position of power and the resources to do whatever you so wish in exchange for your assistance."**_ The woman answers, her voice slightly muddled by whatever enabled the Grimm to speak with her voice.

"You know, this deal sounds almost too good to be true." Alexander points out, leaning back into the plush hardwood chair he sat himself in.

" _ **Of that I have no question. So allow me to show you a gesture of goodwill. In four days time I have prepared a sizeable 'distraction' for the Huntsman who defend the city. A perfect opportunity for you to make your escape."**_ Salem assures.

"And how can you be so certain your little distraction won't end up with me in its sights?" The Showman counters.

A low, amused chuckle escapes the Grimm as Salem's mouthpiece bobbed forward.

" _ **While I cannot give away all of my tricks, I promise you my 'pets' will not cause you harm. Though I can't say the same for the humans."**_

Well, not becoming Grimm food was at least a comfort.

" _ **Are we in agreement then?"**_ Salem asks, the bulbous Grimm now hovering only a few feet from the entertainer turned criminal.

For a long time Alexander is quiet, his mind mulling over the deal a number of times. It was front loaded with everything the man could want, but normally the most honeyed deals were the most dangerous. But at the same time if someone was this powerful, that the control of Grimm was child's play? At this point turning down the deal would be the most dangerous move; And that wasn't even factoring in the figure who had simply been standing there.

At the end of the day Alexander Palmer had only one option, or at least one option that would assure his continued survival.

"We are." The Dixie states, extending a hand to the Grimm.

Strange as it was, the creature extended a bladed tentacle, the showman grabbing it and giving it as close to what a handshake could be to it.

Watching the bulb hover back to the stranger, Salem speaks one last time.

" _ **Licorice, if you would be so kind as to stay with our new associate. I would hate for him to be delayed during his departure of Vale."**_ And with that the bulb retreats under the figures cloak, who for the first time since the meeting had began speaks up.

"Of course, Master. Well, Alexander old buddy old pal, welcome to the winning team." The now revealed Licorice declares, a wide predatory smile appearing from beneath the hood.


End file.
